Nurse The Hate

Monday, January 29, 2018

Nurse the Hate: A Scotch Man

He had switched from scotch to rum the previous winter. He
had always been a scotch man until an unfortunate evening had him re-examine
his relationship with Scotch. His face
still burned when he thought of it.He
had been permanently expelled from the best restaurant in the city after a shouting match
and a thrown glass. God, he missed that
place.Oak paneling. Leather chairs.
Best steak in the city. If the
restaurant had not been so good he might’ve taking a perverse pride in being 86’d
in such a public fashion. However, it was the highest profile spot in the city
and it was now common knowledge he was not welcome.It was the end of an era.

His mother had always been a scotch drinker. She had been addicted to
literature. Her favorite writers were scotch drinkers, old British writers that
were always clever in print but lived notoriously difficult lives. She spent most evenings not paying attention
to the family while sipping J&B, reading old books she had rescued from
second hand shops.“White trash drinks
whiskey.Gentlemen drink scotch.”, she
was fond of saying.She was a woman with
an almost photographic memory of favorite literary passages and could drink
like a sailor.He missed her.

He had moved on from the scotch shortly after the restaurant incident.He took the advice of a young woman in the
weeks he spent brooding after his dismissal from society. “Scotch always makes
me cry” she said. “I don’t want to cry anymore.” She was a very melancholy yet practical woman. She offered him a sip of a Pilar Rum.Bingo.It was then he embraced dark rums with new found enthusiasm.He liked how they conjured the sunshine of
their island birth place.Rum reminded
him of burying his feet in warm sand while on beach vacations, though to be
completely honest, he usually had an awful time on such trips.His pale skin burned easily and he became hopelessly bored within hours after arriving at a resort.Still, the idea of rum was good.

He took to having a tumbler of dark island rum right before
bed to help him sleep without dreaming.He would stand naked in his darkened apartment in front of the large
picture window that looked out on the city and feel the chill against his
skin.The rum always made his mind drift
to travel.Trinidad.Tahiti.Hong Kong.Shanghai.Melbourne.Dublin.Edinburgh.Hmmm... Edinburgh. It would be good to try some scotch in Edinburgh…

Sunday, January 28, 2018

Nurse the Hate: The New Sparkling Wine Scheme

I have gone in deep on sparkling wine.Too deep.There are dozens of bottles of sparkling wine everywhere.Champagnes.Cremant de Bourgogne.Sekt.Sparkling gruner veltliner.Cava.Lambrusco.It’s out of
control.Yet, I don’t have a Tasmanian sparkling
wine.I haven’t come across one.Here I was so transfixed by Tasmanian
sparkling wine.Maybe it’s just not that
big of a deal.The dollars available for
Tasmanian sparkling wine might be less than I had bargained.Perhaps my plan to travel back in time to
corner that market might have been flawed.I will admit relying on Leo to build a time machine out of construction
scraps might have been a tad optimistic.Now with him on a Colonel Kurtz type yoga quest in India, I won’t see
him for at least two weeks if ever again.There’s a decent chance I might be summoned to fly to India and search the
entire nation with a grainy photograph of Leo asking all 755 billion people if
they have seen him when he fails to turn up at the airport for his departing
flight.I can’t bank on Leo to bail me
out.He’s probably already dead of dysentery.

While immersed in this sparkling wine subject, I have found
all types of obscure sparkling wines I hadn’t considered taking over with a
swift decisive swoop into the market.I
became interested in Cremant de Limoux as I could see myself walking around
Southern France in rubber sandals making second rate $15 fizzy wine.However, there are a considerable number of
large corporations already well entrenched.An American bungling things up down there won’t play well in the French
press.In that I don’t speak any French,
I wouldn’t even have any idea at how badly they were speaking about me in the
press.They have pretty quick tempers
down there.Someone might come at me with a pitchfork. No, Limoux might not be for
me.

I need something with a relatively low profile that I can
get in rather cheaply and use my marketing know-how to create a profitable empire
in a short time.That was when I
discovered my future in Clairette de Die Methode Dioise Ancestrale.It just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?Who can’t see every American man, woman, and
child walking into their favorite restaurant and saying, “You know… Let’s skip
the Bud Light.Do you have a Miller’s
Clairette de Die Methode Dioise Ancestrale?That would really hit the spot!”.It’s sweet, grapey and just fizzy
enough that every high school and college girl would start chugging it like
Gatorade if I can get it on the shelves.Maybe I can put my face on the label making the “OK” sign with my hand
like one of those Italian pizza boxes.That would imply the trust the consumer is looking for in a sweet fizzy
wine.I will likely have to have some
sort of corporate mascot too, like a slightly buzzed pony on the label.I know two things about young women.1. They like to text and 2. They like
ponies.I think we can all agree that I
completely understand my target market.

I still don’t know anything about farming. I know almost nothing about winemaking.What I know is how to move product baby!The question remains at to how could I get
access to the product at a reasonable rate and package it as my own brand?This is when I did a real deep dive and discovered that there is
something called “Confrérie des compagnons de la Clairette de Die”, which
translates to Brotherhood of the companions of the Clairette de Die.I learned the following from the Brotherhood’s
website:“If you are a loyal fan of
Clairette and Crémant de Die and you want to spread the word about these wines,
you will perhaps one day be called to join the community and to become a
"capé".Unlike the compagnons,
the capé possess the privilege of wearing the cape bearing the effigy of the
Brotherhood.Investitures take place on
the occasion of the chapter meetings, generally on the third weekend in April,
in the towns of Crest, Die or Châtillon-en-Diois. Uncompromising with regard to
traditions, the compagnons will nevertheless sometimes bend the rules.During processions, for example, they will
sometimes borrow a fellow member’s cape – but only with the permission of the
"grand master".

Clearly I need to go to Chatillon-en-Diois in April to see
if I can borrow someone’s cape and get myself wedged in the inner circle. I just need to win the friendship of The Grand Master! If you had told me three years ago when I
started this wine madness that I would find myself in a cape in a village at
the foot of the French Alps trying to translate “buzzed up pony on the label”
into French, I would have said you were crazy.Yet, it seems to be my destiny to utilize my newfound knowledge of
sparkling wine and fold myself into this brotherhood to create a massive new
market for these wines.I think we can
all agree is one thing that Southern French farmers love are wiseass Americans
with little understanding of their centuries old traditions.I see myself with my cape on at The
Brotherhood’s dinner, clinking a fork on a glass, saying something like “Excuse
me!Excuse me!If I can have your attention!I don’t speak French, but I do speak a
language I think you all know…That
language is money!Now let me tell you
what you’re doing wrong and how I am going to help YOU!”.Then I’d make a little speech and then peel
off cash in a “make it rain” gesture to let them know I was serious.My guess is that it will go very well.

My plan is to now research Clairette De Die Methode Dioise
Ancestrale to the point where I am America’s preeminent authority on these
wines and the region.I will allow
others in my WSET class to spin their wheels in saturating themselves with Champagne, Prosecco,
and Cava.I have found my niche.I have found my Brotherhood.I will fly to Chatillon-en-Diois this April and
win the hearts and minds of the Brotherhood.It’s a very exciting time.

Wednesday, January 24, 2018

Nurse the Hate: The Polk Audio Sweatshirt

I found an old faded sweatshirt in the back of my
closet.I haven’t worn it in years.I haven’t even seen it in a half decade.It is a Polk Audio sweatshirt, one that was
given to me as a gift a million years ago.My memory of acquiring it is a bit foggy, but I seem to recall a guy
named Matt (or a guy that looked like a “Matt”) gave it to me.He was the husband of a woman that I was
visiting with my lady friend of the time.He worked at Polk Audio doing something uninteresting and had a stack of
the shirts in a closet.I owned a pair
of Polk Audio 5Jr speakers, which still perform remarkably well. Matt seemed to almost pity my enthusiasm for his employer and gave me a shirt in an almost disdainful manner. Still, it was a good quality promo item and I appreciated it.

The whole trip is rather foggy for me.I remember the couple as being very pleasant
but a bit uptight.Their home was a tastefully decorated townhouse that felt like Target had set it up as a company demo. Things were extremely neat and in their place. It was the kind of house that had a bowl of fruit on the table that was forbidden to eat and was placed strictly for aesthetic purpose. These were people that watched network TV, listened to commercial radio, and looked like everyone else. They had a Ford Taurus and a small terrier named "Rusty". Good neighbors I'll bet. They were very nice normal people.

Meanwhile, I had begun to transition into being not very normal at all thanks to the emerging opportunities for The Cowslingers. I was starting to gig and travel a lot. It was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend I belonged in these people's home. No less than 48 hours earlier I had been in the basement lair of Brownie's in the East Village with the Devil Dogs and the Lyres talking all kinds of shit with my various new degenerate friends. Now I was trying to make small talk with Matt and find some topic which we could converse for this 48 hour window while the ladies got caught up. It wasn't going well.

At some point well past when it should have been suggested, we all got in the Taurus and drove to a shopping area near their home. They had to be thinking "we have to find something to keep this guy engaged or he might take a bite of our fruit on the kitchen table". We went to some white bread area near their home. It was almost all chain stores. I recall stopping in a record store where I bought one of those lounge music compilations, the one with the fur cover. I think the three of them were at Orange Julius or some such shit. This day was going nowhere fast. There was only one thing to do. Pour some beer all over it.

Looking back, I should have realized that Matt and his wife didn't have quite the tolerance of a touring deadbeat struggling musician dude. I just kept ordering rounds. By the time we got back to the townhouse, they were struggling a bit. I'm pretty sure I drove the Taurus. I walked in, cranked up Matt's stereo with the Ultra-Lounge CD, and saw the sheer uptick in quality in Matt's top-of-the-line Polk speakers from work. Matt had a truly horrified look on his face when "Mondo Exotica" exploded out of his speakers. He hurriedly turned down the volume and collapsed into the love seat, careful not to displace the tastefully arranged pillows. Within minutes I saw the ladies huddle. My female companion had been informed that Matt needed a "power nap". I was just getting going, but if Matt wanted to crash with his bride that was fine with me. It was agreed we would reconvene for some type of meal in a couple hours. I could care less what they wanted to do at this point. I went and fucked my female companion in the guest room with great gusto.

It was dusk when our hosts dragged themselves out of their bedroom. Meanwhile I just kept going. I had showered, split the beers in the fridge with my lady friend, and was ready to keep this going. This is when an image that sticks in my mind to this day came to fruition. I was standing on the stairs heading down to the kitchen. My lady friend was talking to our hostess above me in the hall. We were deciding where we would go to eat. This was when Rusty the Terrier came bounding out of our guest room with my used condom in his mouth, the end squirting liquid onto the still new smelling carpet of the hallway.

I know for a fact I realized what Rusty had in his mouth before the ladies did. I say this because our hostess said "Rusty! What do you have there? Were you in the garbage again?". Yes, indeed Rusty had been in the garbage. It must have been right about then when it hit my lovely companion as to what Rusty had in his mouth. She then made the mistake of trying to grab Rusty while also exclaiming "Oh My God!". This in turn made Rusty think this was a game and he began to tear around the house leaking the contents out in all directions as it hit our hostess as to what had happened. It was not an ideal situation. Not with the high pitched screaming and all.

I can't recall what happened after that. I have no memory of leaving in shame or going to dinner awkwardly. I'm sure something unpleasant happened, but that's all I remember. But I do know I have this reliably toasty sweat shirt with a Polk Audio logo on it, and I would like to thank Matt and his wife for both the hospitality and the shirt once again.

About Me

As the singer of The Whiskey Daredevils, a group of barely talented dead beat no frills rockers, I travel a great many hours in a van. In this van, many opinions are formed that need to be shared in this space. There are many things that make sense in the van that don't make nearly as much sense in the cold harsh light of daylight. This is not my concern.